


Music

by Trotzkopf



Series: Cravings [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bickering, Butt Sex, Difficult Decisions, Divorce, Frottage, Groping, Heartbreak, Jealousy, Kissing, Lady Vexeter (OC), M/M, Oral, William Wagner (OC), handjobs, it got a bit emotional, lots of sex in chapter 2, something like romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: Vetinari had offered Sam to take all the time he wants to mull over his proposition. He would have preferred it if he hadn't been taken quite so literally.The time has come to make a decision and sometimes the leopard just can't change his shorts. All decisions have consequences and not all of them are pleasant, some of them even break your heart.Chapter 1 - First Crescendo - in which Sam has to make a life changing decisionChapter 2 - Second Crescendo - sex and maybe love, who knows





	1. First Crescendo

Vimes twirled the purple and gold piece of paper between his fingers. The new dollar bills had been in circulation for a few weeks now and he had to admit they were a lot more convenient than coins. Still, first the post office, now the Royal Bank and Mint. And to top it all off, a golem army buried outside the city. Vetinari was handing that criminal way too much power. What was he thinking? 

The door to his bedroom opened and Sybil bustled in. “Are you ready, Sam? What are you doing? You are expected at the gala in thirty minutes and you haven’t even finished putting your shirt on,” she tut-tutted. 

“Yes, dear. Sorry, dear,” he replied meekly. 

When she reached out to help him, he quickly made a half turn as if he hadn’t noticed her intention and hastily fastened the buttons. He had to suppress his gag reflex when he adjusted the detachable collar; it felt like a noose. But it was this or the dress uniform with the red tights and in the end Vimes had chosen prolonged quasi asphyxiation over humiliation. 

When he turned around to ask her whether he looked presentable, he had to do a classic double-take before he stared at his wife in stunned silence. 

Sybil stood next to the bed. Her lavender coloured dressing gown had come undone, revealing an unusual amount of lace and skin. She smiled nervously at him. “Well, I was thinking since I’m housebound tonight and if you could get away a little earlier, we could-“

“Uhm,” Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, I mean, if I can. We…could…” 

She beamed at him. “That would be nice. We should try and, you know, get back into the…into the swing of things?”

He tried to respond but no words would come out. In his rising panic, he settled for a nod. Still somewhat shell-shocked, he let her help him into his tail coat. When he turned around, he saw her positively glowing expression, and was that a hint of Fleurs de Lice1? He recognised the scent only because Nobby had worn it the other week and sworn it increased his sexual magnetism. _\- “Says so on the bottle, Mister Vimes, and there was also an advertisement in the Times, so it’s gotta be true.” -_ It took Sam a few seconds to realise that his wife was waiting for him to kiss her good-bye. He couldn’t move. 

There had been a long period of sleeping in separate bedrooms after the difficult birth - doctor’s orders. And before they had known, a year had been and gone. Oh, there had been hasty kisses in passing and the occasional hug. But whenever they had gotten to the point where clothes would start to, if not come off than at least be shoved aside, something or someone else had needed urgent attention. Priorities had shifted. When it wasn’t their son, it was a sick dragon, or more often than not, someone had committed a crime and only Sam Vimes could sort it out. Neither of them seemed to have missed it in particular. At least Sybil had never said anything, and Sam had occasionally taken matters into his own hand. Wasn’t that what happened to all couples of a certain age when they had agreed one child was enough? 

And there was of course the other issue. That bloody unresolved _thing_ between him and Vetinari. Neither of them had mentioned it again during the past weeks. They had been very distracted by the whole fiasco with the bank and the golem army which had turned not just the city but half the Disc on its head. It had all gotten rather political until the Patrician sorted it out in the end. Oh, Moist von Lipwig got the credit, but Sam knew it had been Vetinari. It was always Vetinari. The salient point was of course wholesale mass slaughter had been avoided. So tonight, the movers and shakers would gather at the opera house to celebrate and lay diplomatic foundations for the next cataclysm, and the Duke of Ankh’s presence had been requested by the palace in no uncertain terms. 

However, that didn’t mean Sam had forgotten about the kiss. Kisses. Or that voice pouring words into his ear, turning his insides to jelly and making him want to do things to Havelock Vetinari that were still frowned upon by most followers of the major religions. Besides, how could you forget wanting to stick your tongue down your boss’ throat when you saw the bloody bastard every day for your standing 11 am appointment? 

Since they had last kissed, Drumknott had been present at all their meetings, like a chaperone. Whether this had been an accident or design…oh, who was he kidding, of course Vetinari had planned it that way. He had told Sam it was up to him what would or wouldn’t happen between them. This was his lordship’s versions of showing him that he was not going to force an answer by cornering him alone. If he - Sam - had something to say to him, he would have to _ask_ for a private audience. 

All of this was further complicated by the fact that the Commander still had no idea what the right decision was. He just knew that every time Havelock looked at him, his pulse quickened and he had to force himself not to stare too long or too hard because his cock had far less reservations about what he wanted to do than the rest of Sam Vimes. He sighed. One of these days, he would have to make a choice. This waiting wasn’t fair on anyone. 

Back in the here and now, it suddenly dawned on him that he had frozen up. His wife had obviously noticed it, too. Her smile was still present, but it seemed to pull away from her face. Sam felt a lump forming in his throat, preventing the treacherous words - “Sybil, we need to talk,” - from spilling out of his mouth. He coughed, trying to dislodge dread and guilt, but they seemed to have decided to throw down some rugs, pull up some chairs and make themselves quite at home in his chest.  

“Sybil-“

With impeccable timing, Young Sam came to his rescue when the cry of a toddler in need of his mum rang through the house. Their nanny had to leave town on urgent family business this evening, but this wasn’t a big deal because Sybil preferred to be hands on anyway. “Oh, I should-,” she began.

“Yeah, uhm, I’m late anyway. See you later,” Vimes murmured and gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek before he all but fled the house. 

*~*

The Commander lurked in the back of the packed foyer, half hidden by a gilded pillar and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. It was working so far. All watchman knew how to blend in with the shadows, but you could even vanish in the brightest lid room when you didn’t have to wear silly, red tights and your wife, who rather stood out and knew absolutely bloody everyone, was at home taking care of your sick child. Throw in a reputation for being a common-bred bastard and Sam had all but turned invisible. It other words, the evening wasn't going too badly.

“My, you look rather handsome tonight, your Grace.” Vimes groaned on the inside. Well, his luck had to run out at some point. He cleared his throat and straightened up. 

“Good evening, Lady Vexeter.” This would be Sybil’s cue to nudge him into saying something complimentary, in her absence, he went for wooden silence and hoped his conversation partner would take the hint. To his amazement, she did. “Please do excuse me, I must say hello to my dear friend,” and she was gone again. Sam resumed his slouch and wondered whether it would be rude to leave before anyone else spotted him. Surely, he had fulfilled his quota of “being seen” by now. But where could he go? 

Home was not an option. There were too many complications and _expectations_ waiting for him and he needed time to think. The yard, maybe? It was busy at all hours and he would immediately get distracted by work. He felt the corners of his mouth lift. 

Just when he was about to edge toward the exit, a tall man dressed in black stepped into his view at the other end of the room. Apparently oblivious to Vimes’ presence, Vetinari talked to several diplomats, slowly circling through the crowd like a broody, handsome predator looking for his quarry. Damn!

Sam felt his pulse quickening as he watched him come closer with every step. He hadn’t spotted him yet, there was still time. At any rate, Sam wasn’t ready. He needed to think. He…

“Good evening, Commander,” an obnoxious voice nearly startled him out of his skin. Ready to strike, Sam stopped himself just in time before there would be what the Times would later call a “diplomatic incident” involving the Duke of Ankh and the Head of the Assassins’ Guild.

“Downey,” grumbled Vimes and crossed his arms in front if his chest. 

“And where is the Duchess this evening? She is usually so hard to miss even in a crowd. I trust she is well?” 

Oh, Downey was really asking for it tonight. It was common knowledge that Sam hated being married to a Duchess and the constant remarks concerning Sybil’s full figure were just getting old. Vimes counted to ten under his breath and let his lips contort into a humourless smile before he answered. “Sybil is at home looking after our son. But I shall pass on that you’ve enquired after her.” 

Feigning shock, Downey lowered his glass. “Surely, you have staff who can take care of such things. I know you come from rather,” he fake coughed, “humble origins but you cannot expect a woman of Lady Sybil’s breeding to lower herself to your standards and deprive her of an evening’s entertainment such as this.” He made a sweeping gesture around the room, and Sam really had to grab his biceps rather hard to prevent his fists from flying towards Downey’s smug mouth. 

Undeterred, the assassin continued in a conversational tone. “Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Commander. Vetinari is such a strict master, isn’t he? He usually has you chasing all over the place. All work and no play makes for a dull terrier, well, we didn’t call him dog-botherer for nothing!” 

Vimes smiled with his teeth alone and growled. “Apropos of nothing, Downey, my lawyer tells me that since the city is prospering under current rulership, inflation compels me to move with the times. Please expect a letter from her office about the new lease for my land. I’m referring to the patch that has your sh…school squarely on top of it.”

It wasn’t as good as a sock full of bricks in the kisser but still gratifying to see Downey choke on his champagne. “I bet you regret striking me off the register now, you slimy bastard,” Vimes thought and permitted himself a smug grin. Looking like the rabid mongrel that he was with spit and booze clinging to his chin, the assassin glared at him once and then left without another word. 

"Who's a dog now, eh?" thought Vimes and, still pleased with himself, looked around and directly into the cold, blue eyes of Havelock Vetinari. Suddenly, the noise of the party was drowned out by the thrumming of blood rushing through his veins. The pit of Sam’s stomach lurched, he tried to swallow but his mouth had run dry. He was vaguely aware of people laughing and talking around him but it all faded away like a dream until only the tall man with the cane and piercing eyes seemed real. Vimes tried to cling to bits of sanity: he had a family, responsibilities, he-

When had this happened? When had that bastard become so important to him? Blast, this was it! No more running. It would only delay the inevitable, maybe it was time to face the music. 

Speaking of, the gong rang, signalling the performance was about to begin and people had better hurry to their seats. Saved by the bell, Sam let out the air he had been holding. Havelock stopped in his tracks and shot him a quick glance that said -  _we are not done -_  which nearly scrambled Vimes’ brain before they headed off in opposite directions. 

Cursing under his breath, the Commander slumped up the stairs to his box. Technically, it was the Ramkin box. Sybil’s family had always been a patron of the arts and so, when he had said “I do”, he had also acquired a permanent seat at the opera. 

“Lucky me,” Vimes muttered as he let himself fall into one of the uncomfortable chairs. He didn’t even know what fresh hell he would have to suffer through this time. He hoped it was something with a minimum of soprano and a maximum of shortness. He only ever went to the opera when Sybil insisted he had to make an appearance, like tonight. The Duke of Ankh had diplomatic responsibilities and since this hullabaloo was all for the benefit of foreign dignitaries, Sam had to be here whether he wanted to or not. Gods, Vimes hated politics. 

Across the great divide that were the stalls down below, the Patrician took his seat in his box. Just before the light went out, Vimes saw Vetinari turn his head. Their eyes met for a split second and Sam’s heart jumped into his throat. Although it was too dark for a normal person to see, Havelock’s eyes seemed to stay locked with his until the stage illuminated and a heavily made-up woman started to sing about cabbages. 

Unwilling to follow the plot of the performance and unable to snooze through it, Vimes squirmed in his seat, trying not to stare at Vetinari the whole time. It didn’t work. Every few seconds his gaze swung back as if the Patrician had used a crowbar. Sam spend an agonising 45 minutes wondering why he was so attracted to him. When had it started? And more importantly, how could he stop? Did he want to stop? What did he want? 

When the lights came back on during the interlude, Sam was none the wiser but a whole lot more agitated about his predicament. This here was exactly why he avoided down-time. It gave him too much room to panic about things that had potentially never happened and were definitely not happening right now and might very well never happen in the future. 

His eyes lit up when a tray full of champagne flutes floated past him as he descended the stairs back into the foyer, making Vimes’ hand twitch. He had never cared for fancy, bubbly booze, but in a pinch- 

No, he couldn’t. He knew all too well, it was a slippery slope: one drink was one too many. However, on some days it was harder to remember why that was such a problem. Clenching his jaw with stubborn determination, Vimes made his way to the bar and ordered a cranberry juice. Glass in hand he turned around, scanning the room for a convenient nook to vanish in. His eyes landed on the golden suit instead. 

Moist von Lipwig, Postmaster General and Acting Chairman of the Royal Bank and Mint, talked animatedly with a group of dignitaries. As usual, the man was all smiles and carefully timed physical contact when a statement needed reinforcement. Lipwig was a fraudster and a scoundrel, and the crowd loved him for it. Vimes stopped himself in time before he spat on the varnished floor in disgust. Vetinari sure knew how to pick them. Speaking of his lordship, Sam scanned the room, but the Patrician was no-where to be found. 

Vimes nodded at a few people on autopilot as he maneuvered through the crowd, still watching Lipwig’s party. Lord Downey had joined them, talking a bit too loudly and nearly knocking Ms Dearheart’s glass out of her hand by accident. Drunk. A man in his position should know better, but that was Downey for you. 

Dog-botherer. Vimes recalled the vile nickname and wondered whether there was a lot more history between the Patrician and Downey than met the eye. There didn’t seem to be any love lost between them, or was it lost love? A spurned lover? Sam felt himself blushing at the thought. Why was he even thinking about that? But now that he had opened the can of worms, he might as well carry on. 

These two clearly went way back and Vetinari had even granted him a lordship. Was there a pattern emerging? Sam groaned. Bloody clues! They misled you at every turn. He had no proof that anything had happened between Vetinari and Downey. Just the thought alone made him want to punch something. He took a deep breath. “Calm down, Sam,” he told himself. All he had was a lot of wild speculation and hot air. Downey had only become a major player in the city after he had taken control of the guild after that mess with the Gonne. 

Sam remembered the feeling of Havelock’s warm blood all over his hands as he tried to apply pressure to stop the man from bleeding to death all the while quipping and grinning like a maniac. Things had happened so fast that day. He could still recall the bang-bang-bang of the Gonne and the surprise at seeing so much blood come out of such a small wound. Then he had to leave to chase the assassin, someone else’s hands took his place. But he clearly remembered thinking, “If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me.” Had that been the start of it all? His wedding day? If that were true, the irony wasn’t lost on him. 

“Ah-hm,” a male voice coughed behind Vimes’ shoulder. It seemed to be a recurring theme this evening: people sneaking up on him. Vimes spun around and looked down into the shiny, round face of William Wagner, director of the Royal Opera. 

“Can I help you?” Vimes asked.

“Commander, oh, beg your pardon. Your Grace, I need-“

Sam held up his hand, “Commander will do. What seems to be the trouble, Mr Wagner?” Hope bubbled inside his heart. If this schmalzy, little man talked to him, it could only mean one thing: someone had committed a crime. Blessed distraction - Vimes’ inner watchman jumped up and down with joy. 

“Could we talk in private?” whispered the director and motioned toward a small door in the corner of the room. With a nod, the Commander followed the director up a narrow winding staircase that ended in a heavy metal door, leading to the roof. As soon as he stepped into the open, Vimes saw the huge tarpaulin covering part of the copper-plated dome. Despite being almost circus tent shaped, the canvas wasn’t visible from the street and the Commander would bet money Mr Wagner was bloody grateful for small mercies, especially on important days like this. The director, who was holding up a storm lantern, lifted the edge of the cloth and slipped inside, motioning for Sam to follow. 

Instead of the juicy murder, Vimes had been hoping for, the light illuminated tools and tins which were neatly lined up in front of the distinct lack of copper-plating, leaving the framework underneath exposed to the elements. “Ah that,” Sam thought, slightly disappointed while the director gestured toward the hole and shrugged. 

“I see,” said Vimes and fumbled in his pocket for his cigars. 

“Please not in here, Commander,” Wagner warned before he gestured to the mysterious tins, “some of the things the craftsmen use are highly combustible.” To make his point he carefully put the storm lantern on the floor and away from the suspicious looking containers. Vimes suppressed a sigh and slipped his silver case back into his pocket.

“Well?” The director asked, making his chins wobble.

“Well, what?”

Wagner huffed, “What do you intend to do about this?”

Vimes expression went wooden. “I have men working on it, Director.” This was strictly speaking true, but it was _a_ man, not men anymore. Vimes had reduced the number of watchmen assigned to this case because it was a bit like rolling a large boulder uphill, only to watch it tumble to the bottom at the end of the day and start over come morning. Whenever they apprehended one gang of thieves, two others came out of the woodworks. 

“Well, your men are obviously not doing their job. This was the fifth theft in seven months. We’re fully payed up with the guild and this is unlicensed thieving. We’re going to be bankrupt by Hogswatch if this continues. We pay taxes. I expect you to resolve this permanently, or else-“

Vimes narrowed his eyes and bent closer to the small man’s face. “If I were you, I’d choose my next words very carefully.”

The director swallowed, “I mean, I-“

“Mr Wagner,” Vimes said with exaggerated patience, “my men have apprehended several individuals associated with the theft of your property and they have been tried and convicted in accordance with the law. But the way I see it, _you_ are the one wasting public money by continuing with this nonsense of putting more bloody copper onto your bloody roof. It’s very simple really: either hire someone to guard it at all hours or use something else. You’re part of the problem.” 

“Well said, Commander.” Vetinari melted out of the shadows. Wagner slapped a clammy hand over his mouth to stifle a shriek. Although he appeared to be calm, Vimes’ heart had leapt into his throat again. Below them the gong signalled the beginning of the second act. 

“Your lordship, I…I need to-“ 

“Don’t let me detain you, Director,” Vetinari drawled, his eyes fixed on Vimes as Wagner hurried away, leaving Sam and Havelock alone for the first time since they had last kissed.

*~*

“So much for not cornering me alone,” Vimes thought. 

As if reading his mind, Vetinari said, “I hadn’t meant to be taken quite so literally when I said, _“take all the time you need,”_ Sir Samuel.”

They stood a few paces apart. The space illuminated by the storm lantern while the music started beneath their feet. 

“Shouldn’t we head back as well?” asked Sam. Ye gods, he wasn't ready for this.

“Duty calls, people will understand.” 

Vimes raised his eyebrows. “So, this is duty?” 

The corner of Vetinari’s mouth twitched. “It was until two minutes ago. Do you have an answer for me?” 

Straight to the point, then. Under the Patrician’s penetrating gaze, Sam slowly shook his head. Vetinari sighed. “Commander,” he said quietly, “I’ve given you a lot of space and time, but, believe it or not, even I have limits. This has been too much of a distraction as it is.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting? Sam felt a little stab of something that might have been pride to learn that he was an almighty distraction. Still, he said, “I thought we had agreed nothing happened?”

Havelock raised an eyebrow, and asked with a hint of weariness in his voice, “And I thought we were past this, Sir Samuel?”

“Oh,” Vimes pursed his lips. “What happened to _“you can walk away and we will never speak of it again”_?”

Vetinari took a deep breath. “That is still an option, of course. However-“

“You’re pushing your luck, your lordship,” Sam warned, not exactly sure why he suddenly felt so angry. 

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one. Vetinari’s mouth twisted into a snarl, “I appreciate that ours is a delicate situation, but please note that I won’t sit around and wait forever while you figure out what you want.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to bark, “What’s the rush, are the others in the queue getting impatient? And you haven’t even made him a lord yet! Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?” Sam clamped his mouth shut and looked around to find out who had said that because it couldn’t have possibly been him. Damn! 

Vetinari’s eyebrows shot up. “My, my! Now, whoever could you mean? Ah yes, of course,” he clasped his hands behind his back and advanced, Sam forced himself not to flinch. There was a dangerous, almost hungry glint in the Patrician’s eyes. “Are you jealous, Commander?” 

The question felt like a punch to the gut. A nervous chuckle escaped Sam’s throat. “No!” 

Vetinari cocked his head. “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mind. On the contrary, I’m delighted.”

“What? Why?” Vimes panicked. 

Vetinari merely smiled at him. It wasn’t one of his usual smiles. This one was feral and slow and seemed to speak volumes. Sam could feel the heat rising from his neck up. The smile grew wider, it was unsettling. 

“I’m not jealous!” Vimes shouted again. 

Vetinari stopped smiling but still radiated insufferable smugness when he said, “I have been paying an awful lot of attention to him these past weeks, haven’t I? Rest assured, though, my interest in Moist von Lipwig is purely professional. He is useful to me, that is to say, he is useful to the city.” 

“You’re giving that criminal an awful lot of power,” growled Vimes, hands balled into fists at his side because he didn’t trust them not to reach out. 

Havelock leaned closer. “I like to think of him as rising to the occasion. The city needs people like him.” 

“What, more criminals? Thanks, I’m busy as it is,” Vimes quipped and gestured to the gaping hole in the roof. 

Something awfully close to a chuckle escaped the Patrician’s throat. The sound seemed to go straight to Sam’s cock. He resisted the urge to readjust himself and hoped to all the gods Vetinari had no idea how much even those little details affected him. If he knew, there would be no end to the things he would be able to do to Sam with even the smallest gesture that showed an actual human heart beat in that chest, and that would be the end of Sam Vimes.

He watched Havelock’s mouth move as he said, “This city needs people who can make things happen whether through cunning or sheer bloody-mindedness is immaterial to me.” They stood so close, they were breathing the same air.

“I don’t like it,” Vimes admitted, licking his lips.

“You’ll have to be more specific. Don’t like me using people or don’t like me paying attention to-“

“Yes,” Vimes cut him off and kissed the rest of the sentence right out of his mouth. His arms seemed to have a mind of their own as he pulled the Patrician closer who seemed to be happy to go along. Suddenly, it was all so easy. All of his doubts scattered, leaving only room for wanting more of whatever this was. Their lips, tongues, hands…hands in new places! Sam meeped into the kiss when Vetinari grabbed his ass and gave it a firm squeeze. 

“Hey,” he whispered against Havelock’s lips. 

“Do you object?” Vetinari’s serious expression stood in stark contrast to the actions of his hands. Another squeeze sent shocks straight to Vimes’ cock. Blasted. 

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Sam pointed out while fighting the urge to grind his groin against Havelock’s thigh. 

Vetinari looked thoughtful. “True. But I think it was because your tongue was busy exploring my mouth just now.” And he was still holding on to Sam’s ass. Vimes chuckled into Havelock’s shoulder. 

“May I ask what’s so amusing?” Vetinari enquired. 

“You!” Sam smirked. “Everyone thinks you are this serious control freak, and you are, but that’s just varnish. I hadn’t quite appreciated how playful you are.” 

The Patrician held Vimes’ gaze for a few seconds before he replied, “I believe this is the first time I’ve ever been accused of playfulness.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and pulled out of their embrace, “What are you talking about? You play _all the time_.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the city, “This is your playground and you have us all dancing to some tune only you can hear. We’re pieces on a board and you’re shuffling us around because you’re a big picture person, and you’re enjoying it. I think you’re laughing a lot, you just never show anyone.”

“Oversimplified perhaps, but not exactly wrong. I take pleasure in seeing the city prosper, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen. If that entails prodding certain individuals into the right direction-“

“Sometimes with a sharp stick,” Sam interjected. 

“-so be it. Though, I wouldn’t call it playing because if I break a toy, the consequences are rather more dire than a slap on the wrist and no supper before bedtime.”

“You’re always ten steps ahead of everyone-“ A thought suddenly occurred. Sam cocked his head. “This,” he gestured between them, “must drive you nuts because for once you can’t predict what’s going to happen.” 

The corners of Havelock’s mouth twitched. “I do know now.”

“Oh yeah?”

Vetinari nodded, took a measured step forward and gently grasped Vimes’ chin in his hand. “After we are done negotiating the terms of our relationship, we’re going to leave the opera and I’m going to take you to bed."

Sam gaped before snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack. “You are so full of yourself,” he replied, slapping Vetinari’s hand away. “You don’t know anything.” Havelock’s expression didn’t change, but he let his hand sink to his side. 

“You have objections?” There wasn’t even a hint of anxiety in his voice. How was that possible? Despite Vetinari’s assertions, nothing was certain and yet the bloody bastard radiated this calm, knowing patience as if he was already waiting at the finishing line of a race that hadn’t even started yet. 

“I-,” Vimes took a deep breath. The scent of steel, soap and something pleasantly musky overpowered the general aroma of the city for a few seconds. Damn, damn, bloody damn, he was going to do it. 

“I won’t be a toy,” he heard himself say.

“As you’ve just pointed out, I already have all the toys I could possibly want. The Commander of the Watch is arguably one of them, but I want something else from you, Sam,” Vetinari confessed. 

This was only the third time since they had met all those years ago that the Patrician had addressed him by his first name. And damn it, he liked it, although he wasn’t certain he could ever bring himself to call Vetinari by his. The upper crust did it all the time but, as Downey had so aptly put it, the Commander of the Watch was a man of “humble origins” and would remain so no matter how many titles and accolades Vetinari threw his way. He was forever Sam Vimes, gutter trash. But where did that leave them? What kind of relationship could they possible have? If they took the plunge, Sam stood to lose everything he held dear in his life and yet…

“Then, spell it out, what do you want from me?” Sam asked.

Vetinari cocked his head. “I thought I had made that quite clear at our last one-to-one. But that’s not what you want to know. What’s your real question?”

Vimes licked his lips, “Why me? Why now?”

Before answering, Havelock took Sam’s face in his hands and kissed him. Vimes permitted it because it just felt so damn good. When he pulled back, Vetinari replied, “Why now? Because I know I can have this,” he kissed Sam again before he continued. “Your kiss changed my perspective.”

“Are you saying, this is all my fault?” Sam grumbled against Havelock’s lips which made the other man chuckle again, and gods damnit, Sam was already addicted to it. 

Vimes pulled back, “Wait, all it took was one kiss and you decided you want to- you suddenly felt- damn, I can’t even say it!”

Vetinari looked up as if he had to ponder the question. “No, it didn’t change at all how I feel about you.”

Vimes jaw slacked. What was he saying? 

When he saw Sam’s expression, he clarified, “I already trusted you with my life, even before I released we could have a physical relationship. A pleasant surprise.”

“Are you seriously implying you have feelings for me?” Sam felt both hot and cold. He had to pay close attention because otherwise he might miss the answer on accounts of his blood roaring in his ears. 

Vetinari looked at him in surprise. “How many people do you think I trust with my life?” 

Vimes brow knitted together, “Well…I mean…well, there’s your secretary and I’m not sure how many dark clerks you employ right now, but-“

“One, Sam. Just the one.” He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Sam’s who was too stunned to even breathe. When they broke the kiss and Sam was still trying to figure out where _“I trust you with my life”_ sat on the scale of romantic declarations, Vetinari asked, “Or were you implying you see our arrangement as a purely physical exchange of pleasure?” 

The question snapped Vimes out of his confusion, “Oh, don’t worry. I have a lot of feelings for you. All of them start with - you bloody bastard!”

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Vetinari smiled. “But where do they end?” 

Vimes shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “But they involve a lot of exasperation, frustration, anger, the urge to strangle you with my bare hands.” And something akin to awe, but Vimes wasn’t ready to share this yet. 

“As you are aware, I received my education at the Guild of Assassins, so I’m reasonably confident I’m able to handle all those feelings you just confessed to having.” Vetinari’s smugness shifted into seriousness when he asked, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Sam mentally rolled his eyes. Why did the man have to remind him that he was an assassin turned politician? Two of the worst species on the Disc where Vimes was concerned. Although assassins would win that race by a nose. People like Downey were the worst humanity had to offer. Which reminded him-

“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Lord Downey?”

If the Patrician was surprised by the question, he kept it well hidden. “Mutual disdain and general distrust, I believe.” 

Okay. “But why did you make him a lord if you hate the man?” 

Vetinari shook his head. “I’m not invested enough in Downey to hate him. And I elevated him to a lord because it was of use to me. I do, perhaps, have a certain pattern, but it’s not what you seem to think it is. Why, did Downey say something?” 

“Not exactly, he was just annoying and I wondered,” Vimes shrugged. It wasn’t a direct lie, just an omission for protection, really. Surely, Havelock wouldn’t want to be reminded. 

 _Dog-botherer._ At that time Vimes had very much wanted to show Downey Nobby’s very special finishing move,2 but now the horrible nickname had edges of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sam Vimes, Vetinari’s terrier. For a second Vimes saw Downey’s ugly mug, laughing his head off when the he heard the news. A master and his hound - together at last. 

No, that was not how it was going to be. He might not be a gentleman and his moniker notwithstanding, but he would not be anyone’s dog.

“I’m not a toy and I’m not a pet either,” Vimes insisted, more firmly this time.

Havelock shook his head. “Good heavens, why would you- Ah. I see. This reminds me that the Guild hasn't been audited in a long time. Thank you, Vimes. Another valuable contribution, I shall make arrangements as soon as possible." They pointedly refrained from smirking at each other.

"And just so there are no misunderstandings between us. I have always been very fond of my dogs but I don't have the urge to do to them what I would like to do with you. Although," he bit his lower lip, "I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a collar and leash at some point, only on special occasions of course and only with your permission.” 

Sam's jaw drop while his cock twitched with considerable enthusiasm - that traitorous bastard. This night was indeed full of surprises. So far, this side of him had entirely escaped his notice, or maybe Vetinari just brought it out in him. A likely explanation, since the man manipulated whole nations for fun before breakfast. 

“So, you just want to lord over me, is that it?”

Vetinari sighed and rolled his eyes, “This might surprise you but I’m not interested in power for it’s own sake. My only concern is the wellbeing of the city and its citizens, this includes you.” 

“Oh, I know that,” Sam shrugged. “You also don’t rule because you think you’re entitled to it. It’s one of your few redeeming features.”

Havelock flashed Vimes a lightning quick smile. “Then, we understand each other.”

“Not yet,” Sam quipped and added much to his own surprise, _“_ but we are heading towards an _understanding_.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Havelock brushed his lips over Sam’s who pulled back instead to ask, “How did you know I would say yes? I mean I didn’t even-“

“Indifferent people don’t get jealous,” Vetinari whispered.

“Not jealous,” lied Vimes which made Havelock chuckle again.

“Of course not, how silly of me.”   

Sam grabbed the lapels of Vetinari’s coat and pulled him closer for another kiss. This was madness, utter madness. He was risking everything. This would destroy his family, tarnish his reputation, maybe even cost him his position, and possibly his friends, and for what? Damn, the sex had better be fucking spectacular. Vimes knew he had a tendency to self-destruct, might as well go out with a bang. He laughed into the kiss. 

When Havelock raised his eyebrows, Sam replied, “Yes. My answer is yes, we’re going to do this, each other, you know what I mean.” 

Three seconds later Vimes' back hit one of the scaffolding beams that held the tarpaulin in place. Havelock’s hands had migrated back to his ass while his mouth kissed along the Commander’s jawline until it reached the stupid collar. 

“Allow me,” Sam offered and ripped the damn thing off of him. It was such a relief to be able to breathe again. He groaned when Vetinari took full advantage and sucked on the newly exposed skin.

“We have been doing this for…damn…for…hah…a minute and you’re already marking me as property?” Sam panted. 

Vetinari gave the hickey an affectionate lick before he murmured. “I forgot to mention, not only do I take my commitments seriously, I also don’t share.” He emphasised the last words by grinding his hips against the front of Sam’s trousers, all the while pulling him even closer with his hands. The friction was maddening and delicious and even through the fabric, Vimes could feel Havelock's cock hardening next to his. They hadn't even done much of anything and Sam was going to come in his pants on top of the fucking opera house. 

Something metallic clanked in the vicinity of their feet, followed by a tinkle of shattering glass. “Oh shit!” Sam pushed Havelock away, the flames were already halfway to the tins, licking along the spilled oil. Without thinking, Vimes shrugged out of his coat and threw it on the fire, preventing one of Ankh-Morpork’s greatest disasters in modern times. The Great Opera Fire that cost the city not only its ruler but also the commanding officer of the Watch and several members of the nobility in Ankh Morpork and outlying kingdoms. Not to mention the damage done to the property and the arts. Dreadful times followed that night and it would take nearly 50 years before Ankh-Morpork fully recovered. 

Thankfully, all that happened in this reality was sudden silence in the dark until one of the men said, “Well done, Commander. I see my trust in you was not misplaced." 

Still on his knees, Vimes sniggered and picked up his ruined coat before he dropped it again in disgust. When he looked up, he saw an outstretched hand and took it. How the Patrician could make out where he was in this darkness was a mystery, but Sam had a feeling there were many things he had yet to discover about Havelock Vetinari. Whatever direction their relationship was going to take, it wouldn’t be boring. 

When they stepped out of the relative warmth of the makeshift tent and into the cool night air, Vimes suppressed a shiver. He glanced at Vetinari and caught him staring with an unreadable expression. “Is there something on my face?” 

Havelock flashed one of his lightening fast smiles. “You look a bit, shall we say, worse for wear?”

Sam chuckled, “Strange, I feel rather good.” And he did. 

“I’m glad to hear it. Shall we head back?” Vetinari indicated the metal door. 

Below their feet the soprano was finishing her solo to thunderous applause. Vimes froze on the threshold. He had made his choice but there was still one unresolved matter. Vetinari turned to him and waited. 

“I think there has to be a slight change to the plan for tonight.” 

Havelock hesitated for the fraction of a second before he nodded once. "I agree."

Although it was unnecessary, Sam explained, “I don’t want to lie to Sybil.” 

Havelock sighed, “Neither do I.”

~*~

Vimes sneaked out of the opera house via a back door and jogged the short way to Scoone Avenue. He had contemplated stopping by the yard to change into his spare uniform but had decided against it. There would be too many questions and Sam couldn’t afford any delays. Plus it would give him too much time to think. 

He knew he was about to do something unforgivable and he wanted to get it over with now that the dice had been cast and he had rolled Havelock Vetinari. 

When he reached the front door he let himself in and went straight upstairs to his bedroom. Down the corridor, he could hear Sybil sing softly to Young Sam. 

Vimes eyes stung as he stuffed a few clothes and personal items into a traveling bag. When he sniffed as he tried to blink away tears, he recoiled form the whiff coming off of his clothes. It wasn’t wise but the smell was just too awful, so he slipped into his bathroom and had a quick wash in the tub before he struggled back into a clean set of clothes. 

He had just finished dressing when the door opened and Sybil posed in the door frame. Her dressing gown had half slipping off her shoulder, and she was smiling her seductive smile.

“Good evening, I see you-“ She stopped. 

Her gaze swept to the bed where the packed bag stood and then darted back to him. Her eyes glued onto his neck. Damn. Sam closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted her to find out that way. It wasn’t as if he had had a plan, but not like this. Never like this. 

When he looked up, her smile had gone. Sybil hastily wrapped the dressing gown around herself, shaky fingers fighting with the knot. She cursed under her breath and turned away, but not fast enough. Something glittered on her cheeks. She had been his friend, his lover and saviour, and he was breaking her heart. 

As he watched her shoulders shaking, whether from the struggle with her clothes or crying, he couldn’t say. But he swore then and there, he would accept whatever terms she would set. He would not argue or make excuses, and he would apologise without any “buts” or “because”. He owed her that much and more. 

By the time she had composed herself, there were no tears visible. Instead, he looked at the serene and polite expression of the Duchess of Ankh. Lady Sybil Vimes had straightened up to her full height, her fingers laced in front of her stomach. She was ready for him.

“Sybil, we need to talk.” 

~*~*~

1\. lice (french) = heddle (part of the loom that controls the wrap) 

2\. Kick in the fork


	2. Second Crescendo

It didn’tsurprise him to see the black coach waiting for him at the corner. When he approached, the door opened and he slipped inside. Once the door was shut, Vetinari knocked his cane against the roof and the coach lurched into motion. They were sitting opposite each other in the dark.

“Thank you for not waiting in front of the house,” Vimes murmured. Vetinari inclined his head. Sam watched Havelock watching him although how much the other man could actually see was anyone’s guess. 

She had been understanding. Somehow, that had been the worst part. Sybil hadn’t screamed or thrown things. She had led him into the kitchen, made them both a cup of tea and talked in a sensible, quiet way. 

*~*

“Who is she, then?” 

Damn. Sam took a deep breath. There were no manuals or trial runs for this sort of situation. Where he had grown up, your dad didn’t pull you aside and said, “Son, here is what you do when you have to tell your wife you fancy other men.” Or in Sam’s case, one other man. With one notable exception, Sam had never even looked at another man twice, at least not like that. He chewed on his lip. “Actually, the question is, who is _he_? It’s not-“ 

But before he could finish the sentence, Sybil whispered, “Oh my, it’s Havelock.” 

Vimes head snapped up. He nodded once. Wide-eyed, Sybil sipped her tea and stared into the glowing embers in the hearth. 

“Well,” she said after a while, “strangely enough, I find that the least upsetting detail so far.”

“You do?” Sam asked nonplussed. 

She nodded. “Another woman would have been a cliché. Or, believe it or not, I might have even tried to win you back. Or even offered to come to some sort of arrangement.” Sam gaped at her. 

“Don’t give me that look! I can be flexible. But I know Havelock isn’t the sharing sort, and neither are you for that matter. Unless…” 

She left the sentence unfinished like a man hanging over a cliff, clinging to a bit of hope and rock that was already crumbling under his fingers. Sam said nothing.

“No,” she sighed, “that’s not an option here. I mean, you haven’t touched me in over a year, maybe I should have seen this coming?”

“What? How? I didn’t see it coming, and certainly not with him.”

Sybil snorted. “Really? I see you when you dash through the doors just before you read to our son and, if I’m lucky, on the way out. How often does Havelock get to see you? Or more to the point, how often do you not show up for your appointments?”

Every day at 11am, and almost never. Neither of them needed to say it. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmured. He would have given his right arm for a drink right about now.

To his surprise, Sybil chuckled, “Yes, so you said,” but when he looked at her face, he saw she was crying. Vimes reached for her but she hastily pulled away. “No,” she sniffed. “No, please don’t mistake this,” she gestured to herself and the tea, “for acceptance. I’m angry, Sam. So angry. Angry at you, at him, but mostly at myself. Stupid, stupid Sybil!”

He tried to protest but she waved her hand at him.

“I knew, deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. I just ignored it. There was always something else going on and I pushed it away. Pushed _you_ away.”

“No!” Vimes shouted, his hand slamming on the table, making Sybil jump. She stared at him, eyes brimming with tears, her lips quivered. 

“Damn it!” He took a shuddering breath and continued somewhat calmer, “That’s not what happened. It has nothing to do with you or anyone else. It’s me. Just me. He gave me a choice. He said I could pretend nothing was happening and continue my life as is. But it would have been a lie, Sybil. It would have been a lie. I can’t…I just can’t.” His voice had died down to a whisper at the end. They stared at each other. 

“No, I suppose not,” Sybil said hoarsely. “You’re an honest man, even now. That’s what I’ve always loved about you.” 

Sam’s heart sank. What was he doing? Here was the most wonderful woman in the world and he was breaking her heart. Maybe he should have just swallowed it all, locked it away and kept on going. What was more selfish? Perpetuating a lie or hurting the people who loved you most? Why could he never think things through? Havelock was the one with foresight and plans, two things Sam had never mastered. All he knew was how to do the job in front of him, and right now that meant hurting the woman he had loved, still loved as his best friend and mother of his child, by telling her he was leaving. Blast it all!

“How long have you been sleeping with him?” Sybil inquired, breaking through Vimes’ spiralling thoughts.

“I haven’t yet,” Sam shot back. She raised her eyebrow and pointedly stared at his neck. 

“We just- ,“ he waved his hand in the air, knowing his face was bright red when he admitted, “fooled around. It’s all new and bloody confusing and-” 

“Mummyyyyyy!” Young Sam’s wail carried all the way through to the kitchen. Both, Sybil and Sam jumped to their feet. 

“You should go,” she said firmly, dabbing at her tears with the sleeve of her gown as she made to leave. Pausing in the door with her back to him, she said, “I’ll contact you when I’m ready to talk. And, Sam?” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t come here again until I say you can.” 

*~*

The coach rattled on. Sam rubbed his face. He wasn’t cut out for this sort of drama. He would be the first to admit, he was a bit rubbish in matters of the heart or how to take care of himself. Neither were skills that aided you in apprehending criminals because you couldn’t get emotional about it - safe for angry perhaps - and a little bit of self-neglect and recklessness helped when it came to making split second decisions along the lines of, “Okay, I know if I tackle him now, we’ll probably crash though that glass ceiling and get impaled on something sharp and metallic, but on the other hand if I don’t, the bastard will get away, and we can’t have that.” 

You didn’t survive Cockbill Street as a boy in touch with your emotional side. People there suffered from chronic pride and a shortage of cash. You married because it made sense for some economic reason or other; people couldn’t afford love, if they were lucky it sort of happened on the way as they fought through their lot in life together. 

It had been like that with Sybil, only in reverse. Aforementioned lot in life, i.e. a huge dragon, had happened first and then they had started to make sense. Sam had always been embarrassed about the money, though. And yet, when he glanced at the man across from him, every fibre of his being screamed he had made the right decision. 

_A leopard can’t change his shorts._

Try as hard as you like but in the end you had to face your demons and make peace with them or at least negotiate a truce. Everything else was either bravado or a big, fat lie. The Summoning Dark had uncovered something Sam had tried to keep hidden, even from himself. A few years ago Vimes would have tried to drown that “something” in Bearhugger’s but that would have just made it worse. No, the proverbial cat was out of the bag and there was no going back. Sam stole another glance at Havelock and thought, _“At least my cat is rather handsome.”_

Out loud he wondered, “After what I just did, you’re still worried I’m going to change my mind, your lordship?” The official title rolling off his tongue almost like an endearment. The muscles in the Patrician’s jaw were clenched as was the hand gripping his cane. Sam had never seen him this visibly tense before. 

Vetinari flexed his fingers, his nostrils flared. “No,” he whispered, and it dawned on Vimes that it wasn’t anxiety he was seeing. This was Havelock Vetinari barely holding on to that precious, tight control of his. 

The cane cluttered to the floor when Sam dropped out of his seat, awkwardly kneeling on one knee as he leaned into the other man’s personal space. His hands were around Havelock’s face, pulling him closer as he pressed his tongue against unresisting lips, invading that clever mouth and taking what he wanted. Had wanted. For how long he still had no idea but hang it all, he wasn’t going to stop and wonder right now. Not when nimble fingers worked the buttons of his fly and darted inside. 

“Fuck.“ Sam gasped into Havelock’s mouth. Vetinari was jerking him off without hesitation or finesse which suited Sam just fine. The galant thought that he should probably reciprocate flitted through his mind. 

“Wait…slow…slow down,” he panted. The hand on his cock stilled but kept a firm grip on him. Sam had to bite his lip to distract himself from the urge to thrust his hips and chase the delicious friction until he would make a mess between them. 

With shaking hands, he pawed clumsily at Havelock’s clothes, trying to find a way through all the stupid layers until Vetinari took pity on him and helped.

At last Havelock’s dick sprang free, a bit thinner but longer than Sam’s. Looking into Vetinari’s eyes, Vimes spat into his palm before he started to jerk him off with fast movements, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Vetinari’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Watching Havelock come undone under his ministration was a high all by itself. It was not unlike the feeling you got in a chase right before you grabbed your quarry and shouted, “You are under arrest in the name of the law.” It was a thrill and a rush and the certainty that finally - _finally_ \- something was going right in this world, and Sam knew he would never get tired of it. 

They were jerking each other off in the darkness of the coach, rattling along somewhere on the streets of their city and neither of them would last long. They kissed sloppily, panting open mouthed again each other’s lips. 

There was probably a law that they were breaking right now but for once Sam didn’t care when his orgasm slammed through him. Havelock followed close behind with a long moan, the back of his head hitting the wall. Sam’s forehead came to rest against Vetinari’s chest.

“I’m glad I didn’t change my mind,” he chuckled breathlessly. 

“As am I.” 

Sam looked up and pressed a kiss to the corner of Havelock’s mouth. When he pulled back, Vetinari chased his lips and stole another one. They cleaned up best they could and then eyed each other from where they were half-sprawled in their respective seats, both with a faint smile around the corner of their mouths. 

When Sam glimpsed out of the window, he realised they should have arrived at the palace ages ago. However, this neighbourhood looked more like Small Gods than the palace grounds. 

“Where are we going?” Sam asked. 

Vetinari leaned forward. “Somewhere quiet where we won’t be disturbed for a while.” 

“What - the moon?” 

White teeth gleamed briefly in the dark when Havelock shook his head, “Nothing quite so fancy. We’re almost there. Would you care to walk?”

The inside of the coach smelled of sex and Sam was already starting to feel embarrassed that they had probably traumatised poor Mr Daisy. “I could use some air.”

Vetinari tapped his cane twice against the roof and the coach stopped. They got out and without a word the driver left them at the corner of Twitcher Street and Marsh Lane. 

*~*

Sam picked up hisovernight bag and followed Vetinari hubward into the maze of little streets lined with posh townhouses. They weren’t the sort of in-your-face wealthy mansions you found in Seven Sleepers, but more the quiet, somewhat understated constructions that simply said, “I’m comfortable and don’t want to talk about it.” 

The Commander rarely got into this part of town. People here were either retired or otherwise affluent individuals who valued their privacy. They consequently never bothered anyone which made them some of Vimes’ favourite citizens. 

After a few minutes walk, they stopped in front of a detached house in a cul-de-sac so quiet you could hear leaves rustling in people’s yards. A surprisingly well oiled iron gate opened readily when Havelock gave it a slight push. Gravel crunched under their boots as they walked up the short path set in-between low maintenance shrubs to the three steps leading to a dark, solid entrance door. 

A key appeared and the door swung open without a sound. They went inside, their steps echoing softly on hardwood floors. The house was warm and smelled pleasantly clean.

“Staff?” Vimes asked as he set his bag down. Behind him, the door closed with a definite click, followed by the sound of bolts snapping into place. 

“Just a housekeeper, she won’t be back until Monday.” 

Monday, that was two days away. Two days alone with his…Morporkian didn’t have a word for what they were. None of the usual terms seemed to apply. 

But, what did you call the man who kept distracting you simply by existing and who had an omnipresence in everything you did? The man who had come all over your hand and who wanted to do things to you that you weren’t entirely sure you would be able to follow through with but, damn it all, you wanted to try?

Sam could feel his pulse quickening as he watched Vetinari shrug out of his cloak and waist coat. He hung them on a coatrack by the entrance and brushed past Vimes as he walked further into the house. The brief touch sent a jolt through Sam. On instinct, he reached out, caught Vetinari’s sleeve and tugged. Havelock turned to him and Sam caught him with his lips. 

There was nothing soft about the man. Every bit of his body was hard and sharp, just like his mind. Sam was certain Havelock Vetinari could rule the world if he wanted to. But for some reason, he was content with just one city. This filthy, beautiful melting pot they both had sworn to protect, each in their own way. Their sweat and blood had sunk into its soil, literally. Maybe it was a kind of magic, old magic. Blood and soil, as if the city had bound their fates together and now they were here in this place, alone and undisturbed for two days.

All of Vimes’ thoughts seemed to scatter when a clever tongue slipped into his mouth. Something close to a moan escaped his throat when Vetinari started to pull him forward and further into the house. They half stumbled, half crawled up the stairs. Clothes started to come off in the upper hallway. Sam’s heart started to try and hammer its way through his ribcage when the last barrier fell and they crashed naked onto the bed in the master bedroom. 

“Tell me to stop if I’m going too fast.” Havelock was hovering over him, his voice shaking with barely controlled lust. He was hard again, the tip of his cock brushing against Sam’s stomach, leaving a shiny trail on his skin. 

Instead of answering Sam reached down and gathered some of the pre-cum before he sucked his finger into his mouth. He almost laughed when he saw Havelock mouth - _Fuck_ \- before his lips crashed onto Sam’s, chasing his own taste. 

“Only you,” Havelock muttered as he kissed and licked his way down Sam’s body, lingering for a moment over the hickey.

“So possessive.”

“Don’t worry, I take good care of what’s mine,” Vetinari replied and sucked on the mark again, making Sam hiss. It probably sat something unhealthy about him that the pleasure/pain seemed to go straight to his cock. He could feel Havelock grin against his skin before his hands and mouth went everywhere, methodically looking for all the spots that made Sam pant and writhe and swear. He was sure he could pound nails with his cock by now, and bloody Vetinari wanted him to beg for it. Fat chance. “Stop playing, you bastard!”

Instead of finally sucking his dick like Sam wanted him to, Havelock leaned down and kissed him. Or attempted to because Sam tried his best to catch him with his teeth. Vetinari smirked, trying to dart in to steal a kiss while avoiding to get bitten. 

With a frustrated growl, Sam twisted his hip and rolled on top of the other man. He glared daggers at Havelock before he scooted down and made the other man choke on his laughter when he sucked Vetinari’s cock into his mouth until it hit the back of his throat. 

“You don’t have to-“ Havelock’s hand was pulling on his hair but his hips were readily bucking into the wet heat of Sam’s mouth.

Sam let up for a moment to snarl, “Shut up!” He had never given head before but had been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end a few times. How hard could it be? 

Pretty hard! That was the answer. It turned out to be pretty hard. Coordinating to suck, breathe and not gag while keeping your teeth away from the sensitive skin was a bloody craft that probably required master papers. Did the Seamstresses’ Guild hold seminars on this? They bloody well should.

Vimes jaw started to ache but he stubbornly kept going until he found a rhythm. He knew he was on the right track when Havelock’s hips started to thrust, gagging him once or twice until he had to pin them down with his arm. Vetinari groaned in frustration and it sounded sweeter than any fancy, high-praised aria to Sam’s ears. His own cock was hanging hard and neglected between his legs, leaking over the sheets, but he swore the bastard would come first.

“Sam-“ Vetinari warned, almost ripping out Vimes’ hair in an effort to pull him off. Not bloody likely! It took forever to get here. 

Havelock’s back arched off the bed as he came, filling Sam’s mouth. It was filthy and hot and gave him a strange sense of pride. He pulled back and licked his lips. Not his favourite flavour but he thought he might get used to it. 

Before he could reach down and take care of his own aching dick, he was tackled onto the mattress and his cock engulfed in wet heat. It didn’t take much, he was so close already. He had wanted to warn Havelock but his orgasm rushed him like an avalanche. His mind went blank and for a few moments there was only bliss. 

When reality came back into focus, he was lying on his back. Havelock’s chin rested on his folded hands on top of his chest while the rest of him was nestled into Sam’s side like a jigsaw piece. He was watching him with an unreadable expression. 

“Hi,” Sam said for want of anything better to say. 

“I’m not easily surprised but you seem to have a knack for it.” Havelock sounded as calm as if he was sitting behind the desk in his office and not lying naked on top of another man.

“Do I?” He took in Havelock’s flushed cheeks, swollen lips and the for once not neatly controlled hair, and smirked, “You love it.” 

The smugness drained out of him when he saw the look in Vetinari’s eyes. “Have I ever given you the impression I love surprises?”

Sam’s heart started to race. “Maybe only when I’m doing it?”

The answer did nothing to slow down his pulse, “Maybe.”

“Does that mean I have permission to surprise you again?”

Havelock seemed to think it over. Eventually, he affirmed, “Only you.” 

Vimes coughed to cover his nervousness. Sex was all well and good but he got the impression they weren’t just exchanging sexy pillow talk here. This was getting dangerously close to talking about feelings - again. 

“I bet you say that to everyone you sleep with,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Of course, it wasn’t working. Havelock pursed his lips, “No.”

Vetinari’s sex life or lack thereof was a favourite gossip topic across the city. In fact, there were bookies running bets on it and gave pretty decent odds on a presumed relationship with Lady Margalotta of Überwald. However, given recent development Sam had his doubts that this, if it had ever been true, was an ongoing arrangement. 

Anyway, since he was now a part of aforementioned sex life, Sam figured he ought to know. “How many people have you been with, then?” 

“My, my, that’s a rather personal question.”

“We just had sex - twice, but this is too personal?” 

Havelock sighed, “I could explain how physical intimacy and sharing of sensitive personal data are two very different things. But I shall restrain myself because I don’t want to come across as, shall we say, overly intellectual. I hear it’s off-putting.” 

“Sorry, I think you just mispronounced being a smart-arse, your lordship.”

“Careful, Commander, my good graces stretch only so far.” The statement could’ve been classified as a low level threat had it not been for the rather ardent kiss that followed it, making Vimes wonder how much he could get away with. If nothing else, Havelock clearly had a soft spot for him. The thought made him feel a little giddy. 

Sam permitted himself a smug grin. “So, anyone serious?” He asked, feigning nonchalance. In reality, his stomach was tying itself into knots. Did he really want to know this? They had only just started whatever they were doing and he was venturing into dangerous emotional no-man’s land.  

Sam watched the muscles in Havelock’s jaw work. He had almost given up on getting an answer when Vetinari’s fingertips started to gently brush along every line on Sam’s face as he spoke. 

“There was a man once, quite a bit older than me at the time, who strolled into certain doom. But instead of following the established plot of the fairy tale where the hero dies a poetic but pointless death, he stubbornly took the situation and turned it upside down. I was watching from the shadows and saw a genius who, instead of a sword, just used words to subdue what would have been his lynch mob. I was in awe.”

Vimes eyebrows rose. “He almost sounds too good to be true. Mind you, I could use someone like that in the Watch. Did you talk to him afterwards?” 

For a moment Havelock looked like he was going to laugh before he cleared his throat and replied, “Not a word. We were once in the same room but he didn’t see me.” 

Sam’s stomach did a somersault when he thought, _“Havelock Vetinari, infatuated. So there is a heart in there after all, somewhere.”_ The fingers brushed along the scar over Sam’s eye. 

“What happened then?” Vimes asked.

The stroking stopped. “The plot of the fairy tale caught up with him.” 

“Damn, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“No, it’s fine. It was a long time ago. Besides, I think there might be a happy ending in there somewhere.” 

“How? You just said he-“ Havelock kissed the rest of the question out of his mouth and after that Sam forgot about asking. 

*~*

The first rays of sunrise filtered into the room when Vimes opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to register where he was and in whose bed. With exaggerated care, Sam rolled over, only to find he was alone. This was fine by him. After all, he only slept when he had time and tended to disappear at all hours. Besides, he knew the Patrician slept very little unless he was ill. Whether this was by design or a condition, Sam didn’t know. Maybe he would ask. He chuckled nervously, “I can ask Havelock Vetinari personal questions. How weird is that?” 

Sam found the bathroom on first try, and the watchman in him couldn’t help but notice it had recently been upgraded. Full indoor plumbing and probably imp powered water heating system in the basement. You could take a bath at two in the morning without having to stoke a boiler for hours beforehand - convenient and very expensive.

“I wonder whose house this is,” he mumbled out loud while putting on breeches and a loose, white shirt before he went in search of his…he still has no idea what to call him. However, downstairs seemed a safe bet to start looking. 

After Sam was greeted with a, “Good morning”, and, “How do you like your eggs?” And after he got over the shock that Havelock Vetinari had made breakfast, Vimes sat next to him at the dining room table and enjoyed it. The sausages were slightly burned and the egg was runny. It was oddly reassuring to have discovered something the Patrician couldn’t do perfectly. Maybe he was just human after all. 

“What do you do for fun?” Sam asked, partly because he was genuinely curious and partly because he didn’t know what else to talk about. 

Havelock briefly put the Times down and pensively stared into the middle distance, “Let’s see. I write. I read. I solve crossword puzzles. Oh, and that little hobby of mine where I make sure a city of a million people keeps functioning.” The paper rustled as he resumed reading.

Sam cackled into his coffee. “Is that all?”

“I’ve recently taken up sleeping with this stubborn, angry watchman.”  

“And how is that going for you, your lordship?” 

Havelock turned a page, “I’ll keep you posted, Commander.” 

Vimes was about to retort when Vetinari added, “But I think it’s going rather well.” 

Sam pushed the paper down, leaned into Havelock’s space, “I agree,” and kissed him. Just the simple pressing of lips on lips, but Sam felt it all the way to his toes and wondered not of the first or last time what was happening to him. 

“Would you like a tour of the house?” Vetinari offered. 

“Sure. Whose house is this anyway?” Sam asked and got up. 

“Mine.” 

“I never knew you had a house.” Vimes remarked and gathered up the plates. They went into the kitchen and dumbed everything into the large sink.

“I own several properties,” said Vetinari.

“Huh, I somehow figured you’d sunk your family’s fortune into the city - shall I do the dishes?” 

“If you insist, you may do them later,” Havelock replied. “Though, it might be useful to know where things are since you’ll be living here.” 

Sam nearly stumbled over his own feet. “I-what?”

Vetinari looked at him, puzzled, “You are surprised.”

“No, shocked. I’m shocked. I was going to bunk down at the yard. I thought we were just-“ He waved his hand between them. 

Vetinari still looked perplexed but said, “To continue our discussion, this was my mother’s house when she first moved here from Genua. That is the door to the garden and over there is the pantry.” He pointed to a door in the corner of the kitchen.

Sam stared at him, “Hang on, do you actually live here? Since when? I need to know such things if I’m to protect you.” 

Vetinari looked unfazed. “It’s a recent development.”

“Yes, I figured. The new plumbing is hard to miss. You can only get the around the clock imp water heater since Grune. You-“

A crazy thought popped into Sam’s head. He snapped his mouth shut. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did you refurbish this house on the off-chance you needed a convenient place to hide your…me?” It was a shot in the dark but to hell with it. 

Vetinari clasped his hands behind his back. “Commander, I’m not hiding anything or anyone. But apart from that, yes.”

“But you had no idea what I would do!” 

Vetinari gave a faint, little smile, “If it makes you feel any better, it needed doing anyway.” He brushed past Sam and went back into the dining room where he opened another door and disappeared, trusting Vimes would follow in his wake. Sam cursed and stormed after him.

“This is my office,” Vetinari explained, “and over there,” he pointed to another door, “is a small library. The double doors also lead to the garden. You can investigate it later if you want. Let’s go-“

“Just a minute,” Sam blocked Havelock’s path. “Can we get back to the part where you renovated an entire house just to have- to sleep- to…whatever it is we’re doing. And when exactly did I agree to live here?” He didn’t add “with you” because the thought made his brain panic.

Vetinari sighed in the manner of a man who had the intellectual equivalent of a racehorse while all his travel companions were stuck on ageing donkeys. 

“There was always the possibility that you might say yes, therefore, I had to make certain we had somewhere to go where we wouldn’t be disturbed. Your house was never an option and the palace is not as private as one might think. I believe I already told you, I take my commitments seriously and since it is partly my fault you are currently known as Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Watch, of no fixed abode, the least I could do is provide you with adequate shelter. Shall we go into the parlour?” 

He left Sam where he stood, still wondering what the hell had just happened. Vimes blinked and replayed the monologue a few more times in his head before it all sunk in. The worst part was that the bastard was right, of course. Not that he _had_ to give Sam a place to stay, but it was almost embarrassingly considerate of him to have thought of it in the first place. Plus there was that hot water around the clock incentive. 

“I’m not agreeing to anything,” Vimes said when he stepped into the parlour. “But it was kind of you to offer,” he added grudgingly. 

Vetinari sauntered closer to him and kissed his grumpy mouth until he nearly forgot why he had been upset in the first place. 

“Maybe I’ll stay here occasionally - on probation. I mean, hot water around the clock is rather convenient, especially given my working hours.” 

Vetinari nodded and kissed him again. “As you wish.”

Damn! 

“So, maybe just sometimes, a few days a week or so, sometimes. I mean- will you stop that! I can’t think when you do that.“

“What, this?” Vetinari was about to kiss him again when Sam put a hand on his chest. Havelock stopped and gave him a look that made Vimes want to drag him back upstairs and exact a different kind of revenge for being so bloody Vetinari about everything, except for the kissing. The kissing was new. Sam liked the kissing, probably a bit too much. And yet it somehow also managed to feel like another weapon in the Patrician’s arsenal of “things to use to manipulate Commander Vimes”. 

No, they had agreed he wasn’t a toy and he wasn’t going to make it that easy for the bastard. Instead, Sam took a deep breath and asked, “So, what else have you got here?” 

*~*

“As you can see, I use this room mainly for storage but I have already ordered another bed for our occasional overnight guest. We just need to move all of this,” he waved his hand at the dust sheets, “into the attic.”

“Guest?” What kind of guests could they - _no, he, definitely he, not they, he wasn’t living here, there was no “they”_ \- possible have? An image popped into his head. It had pointy fangs.

“I might have to work long hours on those days,” Sam growled, temporarily forgetting that he was definitely not living here. 

Havelock gave him a curious look. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

“I’m not sharing my roof with a vampire. Especially not one you have a _history_ with,” hissed Vimes.

Vetinari blinked. “Lady Margalotta and I are old friends, that is true. However, given how you pronounced the word, you’re implying a former sexual liaison which makes you feel uncomfortable if the furrow between your eyebrows is any indication.”

Vimes resisted the urge to touch his forehead. “Yes, thank you for spelling it out! Do you always have to dissect everything people say?” 

“How else can I make sure we are talking about the same topic. You would be surprised how often people talk past each other because they attribute different connotations to the same words. The word “ _guest_ ” leaps to mind.”  

“Your lordship, it’s moments like this that make me wonder why I chose this,” Sam said flatly and started to walk away before he would shout or start to break something. Why was the man so bloody-

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re upset right now,” Havelock called after him. 

Sam counted to ten under his breath and walked downstairs to do the dishes. Mind-numbing, repetitive work sounded perfect right now. 

“If he thinks I’m sleeping in the same house as his ex-vampire-squeeze he has another thing coming!” Vimes muttered before he took out his anger on the egg and sausage stains.

*~* 

Sam managed to avoid Havelock for most of the day by busying himself in the garden. He had found tools in the cellar and was industrially landscaping i.e. installing boobytraps in strategic locations around the property. 

At lunchtime he snuck into the kitchen to make a sandwich which he ate outside. Vetinari seemed to have vanished into his office and wasn’t bothering him, which was fine. He didn’t want to see the controlling bastard anyway. 

Mid-afternoon had come and gone by the time Sam ran the taps, filling the bathtub with steaming, hot water. The presence of another wet towel told him, Vetinari had already used the facilities which meant it was unlikely he would get interrupted. 

“Well good.” Sam grumbled as he soaked in the tub, which was huge and comfortable and that somehow pissed him off again because he was not going to live here. 

He cursed when he nicked himself with his razor and tripped over his own trousers which he had discarded on the floor, banging his head on the door. 

His nerves were frayed by the time he went back downstairs. He was achy and restless and it was all Havelock’s fault. He knew it had to be. What else could it be? It wasn’t as if it was nearly 6pm and he wasn’t going to be there. 

For the second time ever, he wasn’t going to be there. He had nearly killed for this and now he wasn’t going to be there. 

“Fuck!” His knuckles shone white as he grabbed the kitchen sink and nearly ripped it out of its fittings. 

Havelock stood behind him, he just knew it. He wanted to yell at him, tell him that it was all his fault, tell him he had made a terrible mistake and run back because it was 6pm. 

What he said instead was, “Distract me.” A whispered plea because he knew there was no going back. He had made his bed and now he had to bloody lie in it. 

They didn’t say a word. Sam followed Havelock upstairs as he fought against the ache in his heart and the stinging sensation in his eyes. He let Vetinari take their clothes off and allowed him to push him onto the bed. 

What was much harder was the slow, tender kiss that followed. He didn’t want nice. He didn’t deserve nice. He was a selfish bastard who had abandoned his family. 

When he tried to push back, Vetinari captured his hands. “Do you need me to restrain you?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His voice sounded ugly. “Go ahead.” 

“No, not like this,” Havelock’s gaze pinned him as much as his hands. “My pleasures tend to be more cerebral than that of other people but there are exceptions to the rule. And just so we’re clear, I do not punish people for my own amusement. If I tie you up, I do it because we both enjoy it or because I think you might do something foolish like provoking me into hurting you.” 

“I said, go ahead,” Sam snarled.

“I won’t let you use me or this,” Havelock indicated them both with his chin, “to punish yourself because you think you’re evil. And believe me, I know evil when I see it. You made a choice, and yes, it has unpleasant consequences, but it doesn’t make you wicked. Do you really think you and your family would be better off living a lie?”

“Shut up! You know nothing about family!” Sam stared defiantly into blue eyes and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. How could Vetinari be so bloody calm, even now?

“You only have to say the word, Sam. You are not my prisoner. And you are not here as the Duke, or Commander of the Watch, or even Sir Samuel. I have no hold over you other than what you give me freely. We already established, you are not my pet or a toy. If you truly wish to go, I won’t stop you but I won’t be here either if you change your mind again. I’ve told you before, even I have my limits.”

He knew it was the truth. Ever since this thing between them had started, Sam had been given the opportunity to walk away. If he stayed, it would only be because he wanted to be here, wanted to be with that man who was hovering above him. Even in this state, Sam could feel his body reacting to their proximity. 

Could he even do it? Could he walk out the door and beg for forgiveness? And what would that mean for Havelock? You had to be a special kind of bastard to think you could jerk people around like that. 

“How can you say that so calmly and look at me like that?” Sam asked. 

“Like what?”

He blamed it on his fragile state of mind and the grief over losing the special time with his son, otherwise Sam was certain he would have never said what he said next, “Like you think I’m going to break your heart. I know you have one.”

The pressure on his wrists vanished. Vetinari let himself fall backward onto his haunches, giving Sam space to sit up. They stared at each other in the twilight of the room. 

The insanity of what he had just said struck Vimes. Did he seriously think he had any kind of power over Havelock Vetinari? He almost laughed out loud.

“That was in bad taste, I’m sorry. I’m just-“

“Remember when I said only you can surprise me?

Sam nodded. 

“You just did it again.”

“You don’t look pleased about it, though.”

“Do you want to leave?” Havelock asked, ignoring the remark. His face and body language betrayed nothing. He looked relaxed but alert. There was nothing left of whatever Vimes had seen just moment’s ago but he knew it had been there.

“Why do you keep asking that?” hissed Sam.

“Because I don’t want you here if that’s not what you want.” 

Vimes sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He snapped his eyes open when he felt the shifting of the mattress. Vetinari had gotten out of bed and was reaching for his shirt but before he could even touch it, Sam had snatched his wrist, twisted and wrestled him back onto the bed. He climbed on top of him and pinned him in place with his weight. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” he growled. Vetinari’s face looked blank, eyes guarded. 

“As I was saying, I’m sorry for being a bloody bastard. I don’t want to leave, even though it’s freaking me out how many steps ahead of me you already are - as always. You probably can’t help it what with you being a controlling, scheming, arrogant bastard yourself.” It was pretty awful as far as apologies went but maybe the kiss that followed would make up for it. 

When they came up for air, Havelock licked his lips and pointed out, “Controlling - probably. Scheming - certainly. But arrogant? Arrogance is a self-delusion of overconfidence. I’m just confident.”

 _“Not a minute ago, you weren’t.”_ Sam thought but kept it to himself. Out loud he said, “I forgot to mention ruthless and pragmatic.”

“I can’t find fault with either of these qualities.” 

Sam smirked, “Me neither. They get the job done.” 

Havelock arched into him and pulled him down for another kiss and then asked, “What would you like to do now?”

Sam pretended to think. “Oh, I don’t know, sir, but perhaps you can help me with my enquiries?” 

He could feel the chuckle even though Vetinari kept a straight face. “How may I be of assistance, Commander?” 

“I’m looking for a suspect. About 6’4”, all sinews and bones, black hair, blue eyes, pointy beard, currently naked. Have you seen him?”

“May I asked what he’s accused of?”

Sam could feel his cock swelling to full attention when he started to grind his hip into Havelock’s. “Obstruction of justice by impeding an officer of the Watch in the execution of his duties.”

“And what’s the punishment for that?” 

Vimes decided he must have gone mad at some point because there was no way the evening could have ended with Havelock Vetinari sitting in his lap, bouncing up and down on his cock. That was definitely not possible, and yet, here they were. To say he had been surprised when it had been suggested to him as an option would be the understatement of the century. 

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get your turn but I thought this might be more familiar for a first time. Of course we don’t have to if you’d rather-“ Sam snatched the small bottle of oil out of Vetinari’s hand. “Shut up and tell me what to do.”  

“Yes, that is how we usually operate. But this time, Commander, please don’t get too creative with how you interpret your instructions because my arse is quite literally on the line.” 

“You bloody bastard-“ Sam laughed before he got a very informative and thoroughly enjoyable lesson. But it was going too slow. Like always Vetinari was taking his damn sweet time, controlling the situation even when he was literally on the receiving end. With a growl, Sam threw him off and was back on top between two heartbeats. 

They both moaned when Sam pushed back inside. The heat gripping him from a different angle. It felt tighter, deeper. “Damn, did that hurt?” 

“No, don’t stop!” Vetinari panted, trying to buck his hips. He wormed his hand in between their bodies and started to jerk off in time with Sam’s thrusts. It was the sight of Havelock coming that did him in as well. His rhythm faltered as he chased his own release and came with a groan before he gracelessly collapsed on top. He was still basking in the afterglow when Vetinari complained, “You’re heavy,” and shoved him off. There was a thud.

“Oh, sorry.”

“’s alright,” Sam groaned from the floor. “I’ll just add it to the charges.” 

Much later after they had cleaned up, had sandwiches for dinner and remade the bed, Sam wrapped himself around Havelock and yawned, “Before I forget, do you remember when you said you trust me with your life?” 

Havelock made a sound which implied he did.

“Well, don’t go walk around the garden until I’ve shown you what I’ve done there.” 

There was another sound which indicated agreement and then Havelock’s breathing evened out. Sam planted a kiss on the back of his neck and just listened for a while. He lay awake for a few more minutes, still overwhelmed by how the last 24 hours had transformed his life until he too drifted off to sleep.

*~*

It was still dark when Sam opened his eyes. The rustling of fabric had woken him up. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I’m going downstairs to drink coffee and read the news for a while,” replied Vetinari as he shrugged into a simple, black dressing gown. 

Sam stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand before he said, “Fine. Have fun reading the reports Drumknott stuck in the copy of the Times. Incidentally, how come you get to work and not I?” 

Vetinari flashed him one of his rare, genuine smiles before he braced himself on one knee on the bed and leaned down for a kiss. When he straightened up again, he said, “Tyrant. I get to have all the fun.” 

Vimes snorted, “If you don’t mind, I might move the boxes and smaller furniture from the third bedroom into the attic.”

Havelock raised an eye-brow, “I have people coming in on Tuesday to do that. No need to-”

“I need something to do,” Sam interjected. “And I have a feeling you won’t let me go to the Yard just now.” 

Another lightning quick smile crossed Vetinari’s features before he replied, “Commander, you can do as you please. I distinctly remember telling you last night, I’m not stopping you from doing anything.”

They stared at each other for half a minute. A part of Vimes itched to put the statement to the test because this was sneaking off to work, not leaving a relationship that had barely begun. How far would he get before Vetinari would drag him back inside? Inside? Ha, he highly doubted he would even get to the door. Oh, Vetinari wouldn’t lay a finger on him. No, he would let that mesmerising voice of his do all the work. He would make a statement as straightforward as a corkscrew, twisting reality and before Sam knew it, he would be back in this room. More importantly, though, he wasn’t ready to go back out there quite yet and the bastard knew that of course. 

Sam sighed and let himself fall back into the pillows. “Just don’t be alarmed when you hear banging and scraping noises upstairs, your lordship.” 

Without looking, Sam knew Havelock was flashing him another smile - one of the smug ones this time - before he went downstairs. 

*~*

Vimes spent thebetter part of the morning and early afternoon moving boxes and furniture into the attic. Just when his knees and back informed him that they felt he was pretty much done, a lacquered box slid off the small chest of drawers Sam was carrying and burst open, spilling its contents all over the landing. 

“Damn it!” He finished stowing the chest of drawers away before he returned and picked up the box. The lid was slightly broken but nothing Sam couldn’t fix. His gaze fell on a small rectangle lying among the bric-a-brac. He picked it up. Someone had written “Happy 3rd Birthday” on the back. He turned it over.

It was a very old iconograph image. Sam chuckled because the three people in it were laughing, too. It must have been taken around Hogswatch Eve, the decorated tree was a big background feature. The man and the woman were slightly blurred but the little boy in the dark sailor suit was clearly visible. He had a bright, gap-toothed grin, his eyes squeezed shut and grubby hands held out by his sides. There was a small puppy licking what looked like the remnants of a cake from the floor in front of the boy’s feet.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Havelock Vetinari and his parents. It was common knowledge that the Patrician had been raised by his aunt, Lady Roberta Meserole from Genua. But no-one knew exactly how he had lost his parents or at what age. Vimes caressed the image with his finger.

_“Shut up! You know nothing about family.”_

Except you do. You know exactly what it’s like to love, and be loved and what it means to lose it all within the blink of an eye. He stared at the happy boy in the picture and cursed. 

After he had tidied up the mess and had a quick bath, he went back downstairs. Havelock was sitting on the sofa in the parlour, reading. He glanced up when he saw Sam holding out the picture. 

It was fleeting but for a moment the impassive features softened just a fraction before Havelock reigned them in. He handed the image back. “My parents. That was a long time ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” Vimes said. Vetinari looked up from his book. “I wasn’t thinking when I said what I said. Yesterday. When-”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. I’m quite frankly not even sure what you’re referring to and in that case it might be for the best to leave it at that.” 

 _“Maybe you really don’t and that’s the saddest part,”_ Sam thought. He wasn’t sure what was worse that he had been so callous and selfish, or that Havelock hadn’t even noticed because he too had things locked away in the bottom drawer of his soul that perhaps only a demon could find. 

_“You take care of a million lives and pretend it’s all for fun. Forever on the outside, driving the city onward but never a part of it.”_

The couch dipped when Sam sat down and after a few heartbeats he put his legs up and his head in Havelock’s lap. If Vetinari was surprised, he kept it well hidden. He kept reading as if nothing had changed except that after a while, long fingers started to comb through Sam’s hair. If he had been a cat, he would have purred. Instead, he turned over to give the other man better access and closed his eyes. Maybe next time he would ask Havelock to read out loud but for the moment he was just content to lie here, keeping him company. 

The soothing hand in his hair, the comforting scent of steel, soap and musk, and his aching body all conspired against Vimes. The last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was, _“Maybe I should re-think the not living here thing.”_ And then he was out.

*~*

It was about 4pm when a coach stopped in front of the house. Gravel crunched under someone’s boots before they knocked on the door. The knock had a certain professional efficiency that prompted Sam to say, “I think it’s for you.”

“No,” Havelock replied, looking out of the window. “It’s for you.”

Sybil was waiting for him in the coach while her lawyer, who had been the one to fetch him, waited outside. He wasn’t surprised she had been able to find him. All she had to do was enquire at the palace where Drumknott undoubtedly had instructions to pass the information on if she asked for it.

Seeing her felt like a punch in the gut. He suddenly understood a lot better why she had told him not to come back to the house uninvited. If it felt like that for the one who did the leaving, how much worse was it for the one who had been left behind?

“Do you love him?” 

Sam froze as soon as his bottom touched the seat across from her. Not even a “hello” or “you bastard”. Defensive questions along the lines of, “Why?” and “What?” tried to fight past the sudden lump in his throat. But this was Sybil, not a nosy watchman or a reporter from the Times. 

The truth was, he hadn’t even dared to ask himself the question. Although they had come precariously close the previous night. He knew Havelock had feelings for him. As a man who distrusted everyone, Sam could appreciate Vetinari’s statement that he trusted Vimes, and only Vimes, with his life as both an honour and a declaration of affection which was probably why Vetinari had phrased it that way. 

But he had also said that had already been the case even before they had become intimate. _\- “When you kissed me, you changed my perspective.” -_ Whatever Havelock felt now, he had already felt before but never acted on it because he was sure Vimes was off limits. Once he had realised Sam was more than a little interested, he had pursued a physical relationship with considerable enthusiasm, and probably ruined Sam for the rest of the world in the process. 

But what did that mean? The Commander in him straightened his helmet and said, _“Let’s look at the evidence.”_

He had given Sam space and time when he needed it. He went to great length to treat him as an equal. He had given Sam his own, newly renovated house to use if he wanted to, and was surprisingly affectionate and attentive. He had people killed for saying less insulting things to him...at least, that's what everyone thought.  _He cooked breakfast._ Of course, he was still Vetinari - controlling, manipulative...and contrary to popular belief, incredibly selfless: he lived for the city.

It occurred to Vimes that he couldn’t think of a single, genuinely selfish thing Havelock had ever done. Everything for Ankh-Morpork - he caught sight of his reflection in the glass - until now.

_Everything for Ankh-Morpork, except for me._

Blasted, this was almost like a fairy tale where-

And then it clicked. Sam’s hand flew to his face to touch the scar over his eye. He automatically stared out of the window toward the house and nearly forgot how to breathe.

_I think there might be a happy ending in there somewhere._

Given what he knew now, Sam was sure if Havelock had already trusted him with his life before 25th May last year, it had almost certainly taken on a different meaning after that day. But if you added it all up, you were talking about _years_ of…

_“Like you think I’m going to break your heart. I know you have one.”_

Sam turned to Sybil, his jaw still slack, when she gently prompted, “Well?” 

Vimes took a deep breath and told her. 

After a long pause where neither of them said a word, Sybil smiled sadly and discreetly wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye before she reached into her bag and pulled out documents tied in a blue ribbon. The watchman in Sam couldn’t help but notice a flash of red when Sybil had opened her bag. 

“Here,” she said and handed him the blue-ribbon stack.  

Divorce papers? His head snapped up. It shouldn’t surprise him. He had been the one to walk away and Sybil had every right to demand a quick resolution which would be in everybody’s best interest, Vimes understood this of course. But the finality of the embossed word _“Divorce”_ filled him with dread. 

“I thought this sort of thing took months to sort out?” He asked, feeling faintly ill. 

Sybil sighed. “You would be surprised how much weight the name Ramkin still carries in this city.” He wasn’t, and of course it did, it came with a fat purse. It was all about money which made things easier because he didn’t want any except for the salary he received for doing an honest day’s work.

“I want to make an official announcement in the Times about our separation,” said Sybil. “Something like “The Duke and the Duchess of Ankh have decided etcetera etcetera irreconcilable differences. We appreciate you will respect their request for privacy in these difficult times.”

Sam nodded in agreement. It was better to nip the gossip in the buttock before it could get out of hand and blow things out of proportion. People would find out soon enough what exactly these irreconcilable difference were but if they were upfront about it, it gave people less ammunition against either of them.

Sybil went on to summarise the terms of their divorce which meant she would keep her title and 50% of the estate. Neither Sam nor she would be able to pass their titles on to any new spouses and neither would any potential issue born out of such relations be able to inherit. All titles and funds were to be inherited by Young Sam. 

Vimes kept nodding and only protested when she wanted him to keep half her money which he felt he had no right to have. When she wouldn’t budge, Sam said, “Can’t we put half the estate into a trust fund for Sam instead?”

Sybil gave him a stern look. “Sam, you’ve never grasped how the upper class works. The title is important, but you need dollars to back it up.”

“I never wanted to be a bloody Duke to begin with!” 

“Well, boo-hoo. It’s a done deal and I will hear no more about it.” 

A flash of inspiration struck Vimes, “Can I pick which half?”

“Depends - what do you have in mind?” 

Sam grinned nastily. “Let me keep the land that has the Assassins’ Guild on top.” 

“You really can’t stand him, can you? Lucky for you, neither can I. I can see how it might be easier to keep Downey in line if you have a bit of leverage. Agreed.” 

“Now there is the matter of our son,” she said and whether intentionally or not twisted the knife when she said, “He missed you last night, you know.”

“So did I,” Sam sniffed, flexing the muscles in his jaw. 

“I do not want to keep you two apart. He needs his father. So I had it written into the contract that you will get him every weekend from Sunday morning until Octeday evening. No excuses.”

Sam looked up at her as she continued, “If you fail to hold up your end, I’ll be awarded full custody and I swear you won’t see him until he is a grown man. But bear in mind he might not want to see you when the time comes. I want stability for him and this seems to be the least confusing option. You know I realise now this might be the best thing that could have happened for our son because now you have to make the time. You might get to spend more time together now than you would’ve otherwise. Funny how things sometimes work out.”

When she saw Sam’s faraway expression she asked, “Or do you think this will be a problem? Do you think Havelock would object? I’ve been given to understand you’re living here together, aren’t you?”

Vimes opened and closed his mouth a few times without uttering a sound. He tried to picture his son and Havelock in the same room together. Ye Gods. Sam was about to speak when another puzzle piece fell into place.

_“I have already ordered another bed for our occasional overnight guest.”_

He…knew. He bloody knew. He planned ahead. Of course he did, he was Havelock Vetinari. The blurry picture of a laughing family and a happy, little gap toothed boy appeared in front of his inner eye. Sam’s eyes darted back to the house - _their_ house.

_“Our occasional guest.”_

“Havelock doesn’t mind,” Sam croaked. 

Sybil’s eyes widened. She chuckled, “It’s silly really. But for some reason, I never thought I’d hear you call him by his first name.” 

Sam looked nonplussed. “Neither did I,” he admitted, still somewhat shell-shocked.

After a few more minutes, they invited the lawyer to join them. When all was said and done, Sam asked, “Just out of curiosity, what do the other documents say? The one with the red ribbon.” 

To her credit, she didn’t even deny their existence. “Let’s just say, had you answered my question differently, the terms of our divorce would have been a lot more,” she hesitated for a moment, “punitive.” 

When Sam frowned she explained, “If you had left me for a mere fling, I would have been rather more cross. But I can’t argue with love.”

She held out her hand and after a moment’s hesitation Sam shook it before he opened the door and climbed out. He watched the coach and a chapter of his life vanish around the corner before he made his way back up the gravel path. He let himself inside and bolted the door behind him. Havelock was sitting at the desk in the office. 

Sam took in the scene, his heart galloping in his chest. Vetinari finished whatever he was writing before he put the quill down and steepled his fingers.

“How did it go?” 

Vimes sighed, “Okay. Good. I mean, it went well given the circumstances.” He tossed the papers on the desk. Vetinari glanced at them and took a deep breath before he asked, “Are you going to sign them?” 

Nothing in his voice gave away how he felt about the question but Sam could see it now. Funny, how your perception of people changed when you became intimate. Even someone as observant as Vimes had not been able to detect the little signs that gave Vetinari away before because they were so subtle you had to really know him. But it all boiled down to Havelock was nervous, and something about that made Sam’s heart skip a beat. This whole time, so many bloody clues, he had just not seen them because he hadn’t been able to believe they could be there. 

“I already have, that’s just my copy.” 

Vetinari shot out of his chair and stepped around the desk. Vimes kissed him, just because he could and because he wanted to. 

“Havelock,” Sam murmured, his heart in his throat. A deep rumbling sound, almost like a purr, vibrated against his mouth. “Can I take you up on that offer about staying here, sort of long term?”

Instead of an answer he was pushed against the desk until he was lying on top if it, papers scattering everywhere. It was probably a good thing rich people could afford furniture that lasted for generations or else it would have broken under their combined weight. 

“So, was that a yes?” Sam asked later when they were lying naked and panting on the floor. 

A breathless chuckle came from his right. “Yes, Sam. That was a yes.” They looked at each other, unguarded and comfortable. 

“Havelock,” Sam could have sworn Vetinari’s pupils dilated every time he heard him say his name and it made him ridiculously happy. He smiled before stealing another kiss. “Let’s go to bed.” 

They were home. 

**The End**


End file.
